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“She agreed to it!” Fergus insisted.
“Under duress!” Simon emphasized. “She might be numb to it even now, but as the years pass, after she bears you a male heir, do you not feel that you may deny her love and happiness owed to her?”
“After she bears my heir, I have said she can go and do whatever she wishes,” Fergus argued. “Any woman would love such freedom.”
“But your bride is not just any woman – she will be your wife. Your responsibility. It is your duty as a husband to honor her, respect her, and care for her which means getting to know her and what she wants.”
“You are being exceedingly difficult,” Fergus grumbled. “Fine. Send a messenger to Haverton house and give Miss Haverton the news. Make sure to ask her whether she will invite any guests and if she has any preferences for brunch. Then, fetch her father here, have some of his clothes brought over, and arrange for his needs to be taken care of but have someone watch his door until it is time for the vows to be spoken. Also, call for the solicitor to come once Lord Haverton has arrived.”
Simon stood with a sigh. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
“And have the Duchess’ rooms prepared – the suite next to mine,” Fergus said.
Simon bowed, saying, “You know, you could tell the butler and housekeeper yourself.”
“Then, what do I pay you for?”
* * *
Fergus heard Lord Haverton arrive by listening to the gentle murmurs of the house. The staff took the Baron to his room and brought food and clothing and hot water for a bath. The noises distracted Fergus from his accounts. Sighing in frustration, he threw down his pen, splattering ink across his desk. He rubbed his hand across his face, listening and waiting for the opportunity to call for the Baron. While he waited, he poured himself a glass of brandy and sipped it, standing to look out the window. Impatient, he rang a bell, calling for Simon. When Simon arrived, his face looked tight.
“How is the Baron?” Fergus asked, trying to look impassive.
“Oh, irate, but the man seems placid enough,” Simon explained. “He knows of the arrangement and is not happy.”
“I must speak with him at once,” Fergus insisted. “Was a message sent to the solicitor?”
“Yes, he said he would come after noon.”
Fergus pulled a watch from his pocket and flipped it open. “It is noon, now.”
“He should be here soon.”
“And is My Lord settled in yet?”
“I would give him a few more moments. A tray was brought up for him.” Fergus muttered to himself.
“Patience, Your Grace,” Simon warned.
“And Miss Haverton, what was her reply?”
“No additional guests will be invited, she takes no exception to the wedding taking place tomorrow, and she is already mostly packed, she said,” Simon relayed.
“Any preferences for the wedding brunch?”
“No preferences were relayed to the messenger.”
“Hmm,” Fergus muttered.
“I shall be glad when this farce is done,” Simon told him. “Perhaps once Miss Haverton is here, we will have some agreeable conversation around here and finally, a smiling face.”
Fergus sent Simon a cutting look. “Send for the Baron as soon as he has finished eating.”
“Very well,” Simon said, bowing and removing himself from the room.
Fergus waited impatiently for a few more long minutes until at last, a footman conducted Lord Haverton to the room. The old man looked older and more worn than that evening in the garden, his face red with anger. Someone of the staff had brought his clothes from Haverton house, so he at least looked better than he had that night, his clothes free of wrinkles and stains. He did not wear the most fashionable clothes, unlike many of the lords in theton.
“What is the meaning of all this?” he blustered, not allowing Fergus to greet him. “Blackmailing me and my daughter. Forcing her hand in marriage. You are a scoundrel!”
